Covid Fatigue
I cry for the world that waswhere people flew from place to placewhere cities bustled with lifeshops chirupped to the sound of money in their
September 27, 2020
I cry for the world that waswhere people flew from place to placewhere cities bustled with lifeshops chirupped to the sound of money in their
The birds in my garden don’t listen to the news,can’t know of Covid-19 or the world in lockdown,are ignorant of families struggling in poverty or
Fifteen Chibok girls stand in a line,their faces sombre, eyes haunted,expressions of the near-dead.They mutter their names as if they are ghosts“Maimuna…Rifkatu …Naomi …” These
We’re driving down the revolutionary road,jolted and near-asphyxiated in the ancient Lada.It’s held together with fibreglass and tape.Beside us in the smog-filled street, a gleaming
You walked beside mesome forty years or more,my right-hand woman,leaving footprints on the pavements,in the sand, in my home. You saw my babies born,and die,
In a Chelsea restaurantthe young boy sits stiffly,school blazer straight-backed,hands flat on flannel grey,darting glances at his father,whose fingertip commandmesmerises waiters to his wide. Father
What a pretty pickle you’ve got us into, Dave,with all our politicians running in circles.Macmillan’s night of the long knives had nothing on this.They stabbed
When the music stops there is silence.The fandango of support ceases, the front door shuts,the car doors close, the assembled crowd of wellwishers leaves.You are
It’s 1973. Georgetown is blooming;flower power blossoming the streets,twisting pink stems around long corkscrew curls,tie-dye T-shirts, purple bellbottom trousers,pavements stoned with grateful Dead posters. In